


Simple Life

by orphan_account



Category: Descendants (2015)
Genre: Bullying, Drowning, Fluff, M/M, Pillow Fights, Rape, This is honestly all just fluff like srsly, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, more tags to come, sleep-talking, under-age drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-05-01 01:24:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5186912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His life was anything but simple, and he can pick out a few people who were the cause of it.<br/>______________________________________________________________________________________</p><p>I really wanted to write a story in which Carlos had a very loving mother and lives a not so loving life.</p><p>(WARNING! This book is not for the faint at heart. I plan on riddling this book with angst, so if you will be triggered by the topics I may tackle, please avoid this story. –R.B)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter I

Carlos knows that hate is a _very_ strong word, and should be used loosely. His mother told him that when he was six and Lucy at daycare had broken his favorite pencil. She had wiped his cheeks dry and told him he hadn’t _really_ hated Lucy from daycare, but merely disliked her in that moment. Carlos is pretty sure he hated that Lucy from daycare, though.

 But Carlos can’t think of anything else that can perfectly word out what he’s feeling at the moment. _Hatred._ The word feels so foreign and foul on his tongue. But that’s all that he feels. Perhaps he’s not being realistic, or the hatreds clouded his judgment. But he really hates this

He hates the large truck that coughs up smoke in their driveway. He hates the wind that’s too strong to be pleasant, and pushes him around constantly. He hates stuffing boxes to the brim with his mothers clothing, which he _knows_ the majority of which aren’t even worn.

He hates his mother’s rebellious attitude as well. She’s quick to let herself get started. She’ll babble on and on about how Mr. Anderson at the Office who apparently doesn’t care about the flickering lights in the main corridor. She talks fast too; sometimes she stumbles over her words mid rant.

Apparently Mr. Anderson talks faster.

Plus, he’s her boss. So perhaps she should’ve thought it over a bit more when she decided she’d had enough of Mr. Anderson at the Office. He’d fired her right on the spot. That day, she came home like a vicious firecracker ready to explode. Her hair undone, shoes kicked off somewhere in the distance. After Carlos had eventually calmed her down, she’d announced they’d be moving on the spot, upstate to the city of Lievester, a place much different then their quiet country life style. Mrs. Craeler at the Parlor had told Jamie at the Grocery Store to tell Ms. Amy at the Bus stop to tell his mother; Mrs. De Vil, that Lievester had the cheapest pay for buying houses, and many open jobs with good pay. When Carlos asked when, she said tomorrow. A million other questions danced on his tongue, but only one was spoken.

“What?”

Which is why he’s here now, cradling boxes of his mother’s glass as though it’s ancient. One of the moving men dropped one out of anger a few hours ago, his mother didn’t bother to check it after she heard the shatter. She just pinched the bridge of her nose and looked at the ceiling, Carlos would’ve as well if he wasn’t busy trying to safely transport the glass from the kitchen to the trunk. He puts it in softly, but it honestly didn’t matter how softly he’d put it in, because a few moving men placed their stained sofa right in front of it afterwards, hopefully it was in front of it. The Sun had grown weary and traded its spot in the sky with the moon when they finally finished getting everything in. His mother and him had just started cramming themselves into their tiny automobile when their neighbor, Mr. Spinel tapped on the window of their little automobile that chokes on gas to often.

Mrs. De Vil does not like Mr. Spinel. So Carlos is not at all surprised to find his mother glaring at him. 

“Hey, Mrs. De Vil,”

His mother nodded, trying to be polite.

“Hey, Mr. Spinel,” says Carlos; the only actual being that doesn’t hate Mr. Spinel

“I um, get you all a Goodbye gift, just something to remember my family and me by.” His mother nodded again, and Mr. Spinel handed the gift to Carlos. It was wrapped in tacky Christmas wrapper with a dull yellow ribbon taped onto it. Carlos cringed at the color combination. He forced a smile at Mr. Spinel as he quickly walked away. Carlos hears his mother grumbled obscenities that were undoubtedly about the tacky wrapper. The car groaned as he started it up, Carlos could feel his stomach churn as he passed all the streets that were bathed in memories, some good and some bad. Like when he had gotten a shiny in his first Pokemon deck in ninth grade. Afterwards Bruce Brenner had heard about it and gave him a choice. He’d get a broken arm, or he’d give up his shiny, Carlos chose the broken arm. Bruce gave him a second option, he’d either get a black eye along with his broken arm, or he’d give up his shiny. Even though Carlos gave up his shiny, he still got a black eye. A two for one deal!

 Somewhere along the road, his mother had decided the roaring of traffic wasn’t enough noise for them, so she turned on a 90’s radio station and went back to her teenage years. She’d rolled all the windows down and let the rain wash down on her and Carlos, who wasn’t as happy about it as she was. She was belting out the lyrics as though she were at a rock concert. Carlos tried writing the word “help” in the window; all he got were sympathetic stares. He tried screaming over the lyrics to get his mothers attention, but she was so to deep into the music that Carlos hadn’t even known why he bothered to try. So Carlos resigned himself to the deepest corner he could find and curled up in it. He tried blocking the rain with his back, but the rain pelted through his shirt. He could see the moving truck behind him; along with the people who’d they’d paid to help with the move. Carlos swore he saw him doze off once or twice in the last minute or so while driving.

Carlos groaned in dismay. This all happened to quickly for his liking. His shirt was sticking to his back and it irritated his skin. The roar of the cars contrasted significantly to the usual hum of cicadas in his country hometown. When he looked up in the sky, it was clear, a sight he’d never seen. There were no stars in sight, just the flickering of the road lights they passed by often.


	2. Chapter II

It didn’t take long to get to the city of Lievester. They had gotten there just as the Sun started pushing itself up into the horizon. (mostly because of his mothers reckless speeding habit.) He knew exactly the moment he got there, too. For he could smell the faint smell of sea salt and hear the loud shrieks of seagulls beyond him. 

The city left Carlos breathless. The buildings were like giants, how they towered over him. It amazed him how lively the city was, even in the early hours of the day.

There were swarms of people on the streets, along with several flea markets. He could hear them try to persuade passer goers with their smooth talking and comparisons to other products as they drove by. Several tried to sell them some as well, they’d tap on the cars window relentlessly until they eventually gave up or his mother shouted at them.

 

The traffic started to break up once they entered the smaller parts of the City. Carlos couldn’t take his eyes of the lake in their thought to be, new neighborhood. The Sun’s rays made it look magical, as it shimmered and sparkled. He couldn’t stop looking, even when they had long passed it.

 

                                                                                        *******

“Carlos, take that box to your room, it’s upstairs,” His mother said as Carlos grabbed the box. The house was more petite then their previous one; it only had two bedrooms, and two additional rooms. Carlos scrunched up his nose when he entered his new room. The carpet was a spiteful beige color, and it smelt of cigarettes. The walls were a bright white, as though it had just been newly painted. To test his theory, he placed his finger on the wall gently; as a result, there was a little spot of wet paint on his finger. He sighed as he dropped the box to his feet and started making his soon-to-be room more comfortable and appealing to the eye.

The room gradually started resembling his old room. He had his bed, his carpet, and a few lamps that painted their red glow unto his empty walls. There were boxes thrown onto the ground, scattered across the beige carpet. Its contents were carefully placed upon black sleek shelves screwed unto the walls. They were glass, and the suns rays reflected off of them.

Carlos marveled at his work. He could hear the children outside screaming as they played tag in their backyards. The neighborhood looked fairly nice and friendly, though Carlos couldn’t stop the sudden doubts that crept unto him. What if they though he was different? Carlos shook his head. That didn’t really frighten him, the though that frightened him was the lingering thought was that they _would_ find him normal, only to realize the informalities that lied inside a boy with white hair. He only found himself sinking deeper and deeper into his uncertainties until his mothers voice came booming from the kitchen. He almost few down the stairs several times before eventually getting down. The kitchen had been sorted out, and the moving truck was gone. The kitchen had redwood as its flooring, and black marble counters. He could see his mother smiling as he approached him.

“Carlos, I’ve got your bike in the garage, I think you should try riding it around the neighborhood to get a look around,”

Carlos couldn’t stop the smile from fading away. He swallowed hard and looked at the ground. He honestly wanted to stay inside, it seemed like the best option at the moment for him. But he nodded for the sake of his mother, and headed towards the garage.

 

                                                                                              *******

 The garage wasn’t in the best shape. He could see oil stains on its concrete floor, and the ceiling had balloons tied unto the structure. He could hear his footsteps echo into the streets as he walked towards his bike.

 

It was exactly like he had left hit. The embarrassing ribbons were still tied to he handles, and he could see where the white paint was starting to chip away. Carlos took a seat, and he couldn’t stop the flood of memories that nearly drowned him. It was just a bike, a bike he had forgotten a long time ago. He almost felt guilty for forgetting it, but he was too busy with trying to remember how to work the thing to feel guilty. He eventually did, and he peddled out the garage.

 

The town was gorgeous. The grass seemed to always be green and as filled with never ending flowers. The air smelt of spring rain, and he couldn’t get enough of it. Perhaps he seemed like a new face, because everyone waved at him or stopped him to greet him hello. By afternoon, he nearly knew everyone. It wasn’t that he wanted to, it just happened. A few were skeptical of him, some asked him straight out about his hair. He just gave the regular response; smile and explain the best you can. He only hoped that they would soon forget him.

While going back home, he saw the lake again, his breathe hitched in his throat, it was gorgeous. It didn’t smell like sea salt like the ocean by the downtown area. It smelt fresh, as though Spring herself had taken a bath in it. And the lake called out to him, and he had not one intention on saying no. 

He gently put his bike down on the grass as he went over to the lake. He bent down and he saw his reflection in the water. He smiled, and it smiled back. He stayed there for what felt as forever. He watched the sky turn crimson, and dance with shades of orange and pink until they said there goodbyes and the night took over; sharing its spot with the stars. His mother had called, asking if he was alright. He said yes, and he’d be home shortly.

He lied, he wouldn’t be home shortly.

He was just so drawn to the place. It reminded him of his country hometown.  The shrill screams of cicadas that could be heard coupled with the bird’s melodies made him a bit nostalgic. He hadn’t called Doug since the move, and he was sure he had been waiting for a call since yesterday. Carlos made a mental note to do so tomorrow.

He stayed there for a while, until he heard a noise resembling laughter, and ran into the bushes, it was an instinct he’d learned at high school, and what kept him alive and breathing instead of being someone’s meal on the social food chain. The laughter continued, a few other voices entered, but were soon laughing as well. One was a girl with short purple hair; another was a girl with blue hair that lied on her shoulders. He couldn’t identify the other figure, but he knew it was male. His back was facing Carlos, and for some reason it frustrated him to no end.

The two girls soon left, but the boy stayed, to Carlos’s surprise. He stared  at the lake, murmured something, and soon left. It left Carlos in a state of confusion. He wondered who they were, what they were talking about, and the many other wonders of teenagers.

But, it soon became to dark, and an angry voicemail from his mother had told him he had to go home. He got out the bushes, brushed off the leaves, picked up his bike, and rode home; bringing with him only his curiosity

**Author's Note:**

> I'M NOT DEAD GUYS!


End file.
